


bougie

by serpentkinglink



Series: tumblr fills [1]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Awkward Dates, Flirting, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serpentkinglink/pseuds/serpentkinglink
Summary: Rhett takes Link on a date to a fancy restaurant.Link hates it--but he can't let Rhett know. Link doesn't want to hurt his feelings.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: tumblr fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1552519
Comments: 18
Kudos: 59





	bougie

**Author's Note:**

> As gifts to my wonderfully kind and supportive tumblr anons, I asked for prompts, and randomly chose three to fill. 
> 
> Prompt 1: 
> 
> "Rhett and Link meet in college. Rhett asks Link on a date to a nice restaurant. Link decides to order the same dish that Rhett gets, but he’s disgusted by it with the first bite. He pretends to like it and forces down a few bites so he won’t hurt Rhett’s feelings. Rhett notices anyway and tells him he doesn’t have to pretend for him. Link is afraid that he just ruined things with Rhett. But somehow, the date goes well. Rhett swings by McDonald’s afterwards for Link, and asks him on another date."
> 
> Enjoy. xxx

There are no prices on the menu. 

Link scans over the front of the menu, then the back, then flicks through the pages again, dread building slow in the pit of his stomach. 

He hadn’t realized when Rhett had told him to _dress nice for dinner_ that they were going to a restaurant like _this_ tonight.

The kind of restaurant that doesn’t list prices, only has five choices for the main entree, and ends in a tasting of dessert wines that altogether probably cost more than Link’s car. Scratch that: _definitely_ costs more than Link’s car. 

Wearing his Bloomingdale’s bowtie that he’d gotten on sale for $30 and black shoes that he’s only worn twice before (a wedding and a funeral, respectively), Link feels more than just out of place. He feels like he’s crash-landed into a rich man’s dining hall in nothing but stained underwear.

“It’s in French,” Link says, staring blankly at the menu. 

“Yeah.” 

“You...parlez français?” 

“I think it’s parlez-vous français, actually.” 

“Can you parlez-vous me this menu then?” 

Rhett stares down at his menu, clearing his throat. He points at the first thing. 

“Poulez. Chicken,” Rhett says, “boeuf. Beef. You get the idea.” 

“...right.” 

“Just trust me, the food here is amazing. You’ll like whatever you get. There aren’t any bad options,” Rhett says, with the confidence of a man who goes to places like this once a week. Maybe he does—he hadn’t struck Link as a food-snob when they’d first met, perfectly content to go to any run of the mill fast food chain restaurant that Link had picked. But then again, they haven’t been going out for that long. 

Embarrassment runs hot down Link’s neck. It’s not like Link doesn’t like fine dining. It’s just that he doesn’t like spending money, and being a picky eater naturally limits his options. But if _this_ is the type of restaurant Rhett actually enjoys going to, what kind of assumptions had he made when Link took them to iHop on their second date? 

The restaurant itself is lightly themed, with old-timey decor and amber-yellow lamps in the center of every table. Soft ambient music plays, courtesy of an actual live big band in the far corner of the restaurant. Everything down to the plush upholstery of the chairs they’re sitting in feels catered to a certain kind of crowd. A _rich_ crowd.

No wonder Rhett had told Link to dress up for the occasion. 

Speaking of which--Rhett looks good. _Intimidatingly_ good. He’s dressed in skinny black slacks, a nicely tailored suit jacket, and a crisp white undershirt that highlights exactly how broad his chest is. Even though he’s only a few months older than Link, Rhett looks like a sophisticated man of the world. Link can only imagine what he looks like in comparison, with his ill-fitting jacket and unshined shoes. 

Part of Link still isn’t sure what Rhett sees in him anyway--he’s a scrawny dude with no real physical attributes, except maybe his eyes. He’s been told he has nice eyes. 

“What do you usually get?” Link says, feeling lost. He’d felt lost the second they’d sat down, and the waiter had immediately rattled off a list of fancy wines all bottled in southern France in 1943. Rhett had ordered a bottle of red for the table, something fancy with a lot of vowels in the name. 

“I’m a fan of the brochet au four,” Rhett says smoothly. 

“Hm...sounds like a brand of potpourri,” Link says thoughtlessly, and then immediately feels his face burn. His lack of brain to mouth filter is truly going to be the death of him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“It kinda does,” Rhett giggles, cheeks rosy and round, “might taste like it too. You know potpourri is really just—” 

“--if you’re about to go into some long winded faux-expert rant about all the intricacies of potpourri—”

“--herbs that were dried and packaged, sometimes with sea salt—”

“--does the crochet all four or whatever have packets of potpourri sprinkled on top?”

“--and bags of them could last for years!” Rhett finishes. 

“You’d make a great used car salesman,” Link says, rolling his eyes, while Rhett laughs. “Swear, dude, you’re such a charlatan.” 

“Well, I’m not the one named Charles.” 

“Boooooo!” Link groans, even as he tries to keep his laughter in check. He’s not sure if fancy restaurants actually kick people out for being too loud, or if it’s just something that happens in movies. Either way, he doesn’t want to risk it. 

“if you really don’t like anything on the menu, we can just pay for the drinks and go somewhere else--” 

“No, no!” Link says quickly, “no. It’s fine. I’m just not really used to places like this. It’s really, just. ‘Wow’, you know?”

“I’m not really used to it either,” Rhett admits with a shy smile. He’s so sweet to say things like that to make Link feel better about being awkward. 

Suddenly, this all feels like a test, and Link desperately wants to pass. Rhett’s planned this entire day out to be _perfect--_ the least Link could do is try and show a little appreciation _._

They’d fallen asleep together on Rhett’s couch last night after a marathon of not-so-scary horror movies, and in the morning Link had woken up to the smell of vanilla--Rhett had stepped out of the kitchen in an honest to God _apron,_ carrying a plate of mouth-watering chocolate chip pancakes, looking like something straight out of Link’s wet dreams. It was the kind of thing that Seventeen Magazine wrote articles about. _10 things to look for in a perfect boyfriend._

By comparison, Link feels like the most underwhelming and unimpressive boyfriend ever. 

Rhett clears his throat. Link snaps his gaze away from the menu, and up to where their waiter is smiling down at him with thinly veiled impatience. 

“Ready to order, sir?” 

“Um,” Link says, feeling his heart kick into gear. Of course, he’d chosen the worst time to zone out. His eyes frantically scan the menu again and again, the words on the page jumbling together into a meaningless mess. “Uh…”

“I got the brochet au four,” Rhett reminds him softly, encouraging. 

“I’ll get the same. That. The brochure thing, whatever he got,” Link says quickly, nodding towards Rhett. He tries for flippant, but ends up feeling brashly awkward. It’s unfair how easily Rhett seems to fit in wherever he goes. Despite how large he is, Rhett has the uncanny ability to appear diminutive, and gentle. 

“Great. Two brochet au fours,” the waiter says briskly, and then he’s gone, silently as he had come. 

Link picks up his glass of water, the cold condensation gathering in his palm. He takes a long sip, and when he sets the glass down, he catches Rhett staring at him. In the dimness of the restaurant, Rhett’s eyes look cool grey instead of their normal pale green. The flickering lamp at their table throws soft shadows along his face, playing along his brow ridge, and emphasizing his straight, structured nose; Link is reminded for the umpteenth time of how _incredibly_ handsome Rhett is. Link resists the urge to take another sip of water to wet his dry mouth. 

“So,” Link says. 

“So,” Rhett echoes, a small smile on his lips. 

“Do you _actually_ speak French?” 

“Oui,” Rhett says. There’s a twinkle in his eye that makes Link snort. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Non,” Rhett agrees, giggling a little. “But I feel like I’d do okay in France. I almost fooled you, didn’t I?” 

“Not really. Did you fool the waiters in this restaurant?” 

“No. Never tried my French on them, though,” Rhett says. 

“You haven’t?”

“You sound surprised.” 

“Well, you seem comfortable here. I kind of assumed you come here often.”

“Only on special occasions.”

Link raises an eyebrow. “This is a special occasion?” 

Rhett shifts in his seat. “Well, Link. It’s been two months since we started dating.”

“We’re not gonna be one of those couples that celebrates our First Kiss Anniversary, are we?” 

“No. I mean, not unless you want to--”

“Goodness,” Link says flatly, “no.” 

“Okay, good,” Rhett says, then chuckles nervously, looking like he has more to say. Link physically bites down on his own tongue to pre-emptively stop himself from saying something stupid to ruin the moment. 

He watches Rhett fidget in his seat.

A small, irrational part of Link suddenly has the thought that maybe Rhett’s trying to let him down easy. But why would he go to such great lengths only to break up with him? Maybe because of last night….

Last night was: cuddling on Rhett’s couch that definitely was not constructed to hold the size of two large men. Soft kisses that started slow, and turned hot underneath the blankets. Rhett’s large, warm hands, eager, but uncertain. New territory for both of them. 

And then, abruptly, Rhett had pulled away. Panting, red in the face, asking, please, if they could slow down. Link had apologized immediately, taking his hand off Rhett’s clothed crotch. He hadn’t meant to be pushy, but Rhett had reassured him with another kiss that everything was alright; he just wasn’t quite ready yet. 

“Rhett, if this is about last night—”

“I really like you, Link,” Rhett blurts. 

Link stares as Rhett quickly glances away, blushing down at his lap. And objectively, it’s not like Link didn’t already know that. But it’s something else entirely to actually hear it. He knows he probably looks dopey: he’s grinning so hard his face hurts a little. 

“I like you too, Rhett.” 

Rhett shrugs his big shoulders, the movement pulling his suit tight across his shoulders, but he’s smiling bashful down at his glass of water. 

“I’m. I’m not great with feelings. Last night...I hadn’t meant to push you away. I’m sorry. I was scared, I think. But I don’t want to be scared. So. This is me trying,” Rhett admits quietly. “Trying not to be scared.”

Suddenly, Link aches, and he’s not sure why. Rhett’s said before that he keeps his feelings close--the beginnings of their relationship had felt more like a friendship, a brotherhood, before it had transformed into something more. Moving from friendship to relationship had, in some ways, felt like taking a step back to take a step forwards. An arm slung across shoulders meant something different now. 

“Hey, look at me.” 

Rhett does, pulling his gaze up slow to meet Link’s. It takes a gargantuan effort to stare into those earnest eyes and not flinch. 

“I know I’m scary. Really intimidating. I mean. I can open peanut butter jars one handed. I can do three pull ups, which, as we’ve established, is two more pull ups that you can do. I arm wrestled Johnny, the class bully, in fifth grade, and won. I was in fifth grade too. I don’t wanna make it sound like I went and arm wrestled a ten year old yesterday.” 

Rhett laughs, his anxiety breaking apart with each chuckle. Link grins. 

“And forget about last night. Don’t feel guilty, or whatever. I’m sorry I pushed you. Truth is...I’m happier being with you than I’ve been in a really long time,” Link says, surprising himself with how true the statement is. “Maybe ever. And now I’m the one being sappy and sentimental, so we’re even.” 

Rhett chews his lower lip, biting back a smile. “Link, I--” 

But whatever he's going to say is cut off when the waiter arrives with their food-- _frighteningly fast_ , though with such a limited menu they’ve probably got most of the dishes pre-prepared already--and sets their plates down in front of both of them. 

“Careful, the plates are hot,” the waiter says before disappearing again. 

Link stares down at his plate.

It’s a whole fucking fish. 

The meal is literally an entire fish served on a bed of _tomatoes_. Link feels his stomach roil, threatening to revolt.

The fish’s dead eye stares back at him, slightly deflated and shrunken from the heat of being roasted. 

From across the table, Link can feel Rhett staring at him. 

“Something wrong?” 

“No, everything’s fine. I just, um,” Link croaks. “I don’t like tomatoes.” He feels self-conscious even saying it. He’s tried to like tomatoes for most of his life--he’s tried them raw, fried, cooked, sun-dried, diced, sauteed, and every which way. But there’s a part of him that just can’t stomach the metallic taste--the only acceptable form of tomato is when he can’t taste the tomato. 

“Oh,” Rhett says. “Um...you don’t have to eat them, you can eat around them? Or I’ll eat them, if you don’t want them.”

“Yeah,” Link says, nodding. He stops nodding after he realizes he’s nodded for just a little too long. This probably isn’t the right moment to mention that he also generally doesn’t like fish, unless it’s breaded and deep-fried like a chicken nugget. 

Link folds his napkin down on his lap as Rhett cuts into his own fish and takes a bite. The little grunt of contentment he lets out is almost worth the fact that Link is going to have to suffer through the rest of this dinner, pretending to enjoy a very expensive dish he won't remotely like. 

The fish head stares up at him, unblinking. 

_Just don’t think about it._

Link picks up his fork and knife, hoping that Rhett doesn’t notice how badly his hands are shaking.

He cuts into the soft belly of the fish, slicing past the thin layer of scales to the white meat underneath. Honestly, the dish smells...kind of nice. The tangy scent of lemon, and the blend of herbs is aromatic. If it were roasted chicken on a bed of greens instead of fish on tomatoes, he’d already be halfway done with the dish. 

Link forks the small bite of fish, dipping it lightly into the marinade.

“Wait wait wait, you’re not like. Allergic to tomatoes, are you?” Rhett says suddenly, the fork already lifted halfway to Link’s lips.

“No, I just don’t like them,” Link says, and then takes a deep breath, and shoves the fork into his mouth. 

The meat is tangy and fishy, and altogether not too unpleasant. The texture is springy and soft, and flakes apart easily in his mouth--but the sharpness of the tomatoes seeps through, into the flavor of the meat. After the initial taste of herbs, the aftertaste morphs into something disgusting. 

Link takes a quick sip of wine and washes it all down before his gag reflex has the chance to kick in. 

He still doesn’t like it, but he’ll probably be able to get through at least a little bit of it. A polite enough amount so that it doesn’t look like he’s rejecting the whole thing outright. He doesn’t want to hurt Rhett’s feelings.

When he sets his wine glass back down on the table, Rhett's observing him over the lip of his own glass of red. 

“What do you think?” Rhett says carefully. 

Link shrugs, trying to school his face into something neutral. He’s never been the best at hiding his emotions, especially when he doesn’t like something. It’s gotten him into trouble more often than not. 

“It’s...fishy,” Link settles on. Rhett laughs a little. 

“Like good fishy, or suspicious fishy?” 

“Fishy fishy,” Link mutters, cutting himself another small bite. One bite at a time. He’s going to make this happen, so help him God. Even if the only thing driving him to take another bite is his pride, and the fact that this dish probably costs way too much for Link’s conscience to rest easy if he lets it go to waste. 

“Fishy fishy?” Rhett says, raising an eyebrow. He points his fork over lightly at Link’s dish, an unspoken question-- _can I try?_

Link motions for him to go ahead, watching as Rhett cuts himself a piece of Link’s fish and chews. 

“Here, try mine,” Rhett says after a moment, cutting a piece from his own dish and holding his fork up for Link to take a bite. 

Link feels his face heat up, and has to stop himself from glancing around to see if anyone’s watching. The restaurant is so dimly lit and they’re sat at such a private table that it’s unlikely anyone is looking, but Link is still self-conscious. 

Rhett registers this, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes, but before he can lower his fork, Link surges forward and pulls the bite off it. Dealing with the taste is worth it, to see Rhett’s eyes light up, and his cheeks flush. 

“So?” 

“Tastes the same to me,” Link says, swallowing hard. It actually tastes better, because it’s Rhett feeding it to him, but he doesn’t say that. He chases it down with another sip of wine. He’s going to be drunk by the end of the night--the sugar in wine always hits him hard and fast. 

“Me too,” Rhett says, smiling impishly. So he’d just made a show of feeding Link just to be cute?... 

The thought is endearing enough that Link soldiers on and takes another bite off Rhett’s fork. He winces--too much tomato in that bite. 

“Too hot, shoulda let it cool down a bit,” Link says quickly, trying to explain away the wince. 

“Here,” Rhett says, cutting another piece for him, and bringing it up to his own lips to gently blow on it, cooling it down. He feeds the bite to Link. 

Link feels his stomach churn and flutter, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the way Rhett’s making him feel, or the food. 

“You were saying something earlier,” Link prompts, trying to distract himself from the taste, and from Rhett feeding him more. It’s cute--it really is--but he’s not sure he’s going to be able to eat much more. The food is starting to taste a little sour in his mouth. 

“I was?” 

“Before the waiter came.” 

“Oh,” Rhett says. “Yeah. Um.” 

He clears his throat, eyes flicking away, absentmindedly setting down his fork and knife so he can rub his sweaty palms on his pants. He’s chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“What’d...what’d you think of Children of the Corn?” Rhett says. 

Link blinks. It’s obviously not the question that’s been plaguing Rhett all night, but he’s not going to push him to talk if he’s not ready. And plus, the distraction of conversation gives Link an excuse to not eat the rest of his fish. Which he is very much okay with. 

“Honestly, thought it sucked,” Link says. Rhett lets out a startled laugh.

“Best part of the whole movie was when you started kissin’ me, halfway through.” 

“You didn’t think the part with Malachi screaming was fun?” Rhett says.

“Dude gives gingers a bad name.” 

“But his long hair looks great.” 

“I like yours better,” Link says, grinning. He can’t wait to fool around in Rhett’s car later, and get another chance to run his fingers through those glorious curls. Whatever product Rhett styles his hair with smells good, like cedar and motor oil. Normally those two things wouldn’t appeal to Link, but added in with Rhett’s natural musk, it’s a heady blend. 

Rhett busies himself with his meal, but Link can tell by how quickly he’s shoveling food into his mouth that he knows exactly, or at least approximately, what Link is thinking.

But this also has the unintended effect of Rhett eating much faster than Link--Rhett’s nearly done with his fish, and Link’s barely made a dent. Link picks up his fork again, resolving to the oldest trick in the book: cutting up his food into tiny pieces and pushing them around on the plate to make it look like he’s eaten more than he has. 

There’s not much he can do about the head of the fish, but as for the rest—

“You really don’t like tomatoes, huh?” 

“Can’t stand them,” Link admits, trying not to be embarrassed at being caught pushing food around on his plate. Rhett reaches over and forks a few of Link’s tomatoes. 

“But I’ve seen you eat pizza, man. And ketchup. Those are tomatoes.” 

“Ketchup is mostly sugar!” 

“But it still kind of tastes like a tomato. Like, if you were to eat ketchup, you’d think ‘oh it’s got a tomato-y flavor.’ Not, ‘oh this is sugar.’” 

“Okay, but nobody likes ketchup because it’s tomatoes. They like ketchup because it’s ketchup. Just like nobody likes mayo because it’s egg, or pickles because they’re cucumbers.” 

Link shrugs, feeling self-conscious. He doesn’t want Rhett to be annoyed at him for not finishing his food. 

Link resolves to find some other way to make it up to Rhett. Maybe take him to a different fancy restaurant, albeit one that Link chooses this time, so he can make sure there’s something on the menu that he likes. 

“Sorry,” Rhett says, suddenly. It’s so jarring from his earlier teasing tone that Link snaps his gaze up. Rhett’s looking at him anxiously. “I’m just teasing you. I’m the least picky eater ever--if someone put an old wallet on my dinner plate, I’d probably try to eat it. I don’t question what I eat most of the time.” 

“Mm. Leather wallets. Tasty,” Link laughs. He _has_ noticed that Rhett eats just about anything and everything--the few times that Rhett’s been over to his apartment, he’s all but ransacked Link's kitchen cupboards, cleaning out his supply of protein bars and old candy. “Guess the silver lining to my pickiness is that now you get to eat my tomatoes.” 

Rhett blinks at him. Smirking. Waiting.

It takes a second. 

“Oh,” Link says, face heating up as he catches the innuendo, “c’mon, man. I didn’t mean…” 

“Was everything alright?” a voice says from behind. Link startles, very nearly tossing his fork in surprise. 

The silent waiter is behind him, staring down at their plates and empty wine glasses. Well, Rhett’s empty plate, and Link’s rather full plate. 

“Yeah,” Link says. The waiter looks at him pointedly, and his basically full plate. So perhaps he isn’t as slick as he’d hoped to be. 

“Are you sure, sir?” 

Rhett’s staring at him too, a little furrow between his strong brows. 

“If you’re still hungry and wanna order something else…” 

“No,” Link says firmly, “thank you.” 

“What about dessert?” the waiter offers.

“I’m good, thanks.” 

There’s an awkward silence. Link kind of wishes he could evaporate on the spot.

“Alright, well. We don’t need a to-go box, thank you,” Rhett says, “just the check.” 

The waiter nods stiffly and sweeps away. 

“I can cover my dinner, since I didn’t eat much of it—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rhett says quickly, waving him away. There’s an inscrutable expression on his face, and it makes Link anxious. 

“Please, let me pay,” Link insists, but Rhett shakes his head fervently. 

“No, no, I got it. It was my idea to drag you here and make you eat weird french fish.” 

The waiter chooses that exact moment to reappear with the check, face pinch in disapproval at Rhett’s descriptors of choice. 

“Whoops,” Rhett says as the waiter disappears again. 

“Seriously, Rhett, I’ll feel bad—“

“Too late. Check is signed. Cmon, let’s get out of here.” 

***

It’s balmy outside. The heat of summer creeps in, chasing away the chill of spring. Earlier they had been rushing to get to the restaurant, so Link hadn’t really taken stock of how cute the small town they’re in is. 

The sidewalks are cobblestone, small ornate street lamps lighting the way. Dozens of cute, local shops selling various knick knacks line the Main Street, all of them closed this late in the evening. Noise spills out of a few bars they pass, music from the speakers fading as they walk further along. 

There’s a bright half moon out tonight, and a smattering of stars in the sky. Their shoulders brush up against each others’ as they walk side by side, taking in the chilly night air, and each other’s presence. 

They passed Rhett’s parked car a while ago, and now they’re walking without much purpose, just wandering the town. 

It’s been a perfect evening...almost. There’s a sinking feeling in Link’s gut that he’s somehow fucked things up. 

He’s never been an adventurous eater; he grew up on boxed meals and Hamburger Helper. For most of his life, it hasn’t been an issue. He can usually find something on any menu, even if it’s just a plain old burger. Except tonight, apparently. 

And then Rhett had footed the entire bill for a meal Link hadn’t even eaten. 

Anxiety bubbles in his gut.

“Hey, uhm,” Link says, sucking in a tremulous breath. “Drinks on me next time, yeah? Lots of drinks.” 

“Trying to get me sloshed, Neal?” Rhett smirks at him, glancing at him sideways. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes though, and it makes Link’s heart kick that much faster. He’s fucked things up, but for his sake, Rhett’s being nice. 

Link can suddenly imagine Rhett letting him down easy, right here in the middle of this drowsy, picturesque town. Rhett will kiss him lightly, tell him he’s had a good time, but that it’s not going to work out. Link’s not cool enough, or sophisticated enough.

Panic worms its way into Link’s throat, choking him. Maybe that’s why Rhett had said last night that he wasn’t ready. Maybe Rhett wasn’t sure about him, and after tonight, he’d made up his mind.

Link has to make this right somehow. 

He's never felt this way about anyone. Never met someone that's made him laugh as much or as hard as Rhett. And the idea of losing Rhett is unfathomable. 

“Rhett,” Link says. He stops walking. He can’t walk and talk at the same time. He needs to make sure this comes out right. Rhett stops too. 

They’re standing underneath the yellow pool of a streetlight. There’s moonlight in Rhett’s hair, and his eyes are bright. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Rhett’s breath catches. They’ve never done this in public before. There’s nobody on the streets but it’s still a _lot._ Link’s not even sure why he asked. He wants to take the words back but they’re out in the open now, hovering between them. 

Rhett stares at him. 

_He’s not going to do it._

Fast, Rhett swoops in, pecks Link quick on the lips and pulls away. So fast that Link’s not even sure if it really happened or if he imagined it, but his mouth tingles where Rhett’s lips touched his own. It’s the boost of courage he needs to say his next words. 

“Rhett, I’m sorry. I—“

Rhett’s face twists. 

“Link, don’t,” Rhett cuts in suddenly, “please.” 

Rhett grabs for Link’s hand. His palm is warm and damp in Link’s. 

Link has no idea what’s happening, but Rhett looks like he’s been punched.

Somehow, Link’s made things _worse._ And he hasn’t even said anything yet.

“Rhett, I’m sorry I messed up this date you planned. I’m not really cut out for these kinds of things, I don’t think. I mean. I eat cereal straight out of the box for dinner sometimes,” Link says, all in a rush. 

Rhett’s staring at him, his face frozen somewhere between confusion and residual anxiety. 

“I’m not really a...a 'fancy food' person. And I’m sorry that you had to pay for everything tonight...I’ll make it up to you.” 

Rhett blinks a few times. Not saying anything. Link kind of wants to disappear.

“Rhett?” he whispers?

“You’re not. Breaking up with me?” Rhett croaks, blinking. 

Link’s breath hiccups in his chest. 

“Are _you_ breaking up with _me?”_ Link says, voice tight. 

“No!!”

They stare at each other. 

“I...thought you were going to dump me. Because...last night. And then tonight I made you spend a bunch of money on me,” Link mumbles. He should have just swallowed his pride and asked the snooty waiter if they served plain old hamburgers. 

Link looks up to find Rhett staring back at him. 

“No,” Rhett breathes out, letting out a strangled chuckle that’s incredulous and relieved. “No, I’m not mad. I thought _you_ were going to dump _me_ just now _.”_

“Oh,” is all Link can say. Now that he’s thinking about it, he can see why Rhett would have thought that _._

“Jeez, Link. Almost gave me a freakin' heart attack,” Rhett breathes out, and he _is_ breathing a bit quicker than normal. “I did all this, planned this fancy date because I’m. I’m a little old fashioned…”

Rhett’s cheeks are turning pink. 

Link reaches for Rhett’s other hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“And?” Link prompts. Rhett stares at their joined hands, smiling small. 

“I wanted to do this properly. We’ve been... _together_...for a few weeks, but I haven’t taken you out somewhere nice. Until now. I wanted to do right by you. And also apologize for pushing you away last night. I’m not great at...at saying sorry. Figured a grand gesture might make up for it.”

Link’s following the threads of Rhett’s logic. The fancy dinner, the “I’m not ready yet”. The old fashioned sentiment. 

“Oh, Rhett...did you do all this because you literally wanted to _buy me dinner first_ before you got into my pants???” 

“I brought you to the restaurant to try and impress you,” Rhett admits shyly. “Not _just_ to get into your pants. Though I did want to buy you dinner first. Like I said: I like you, Link.” Rhett cringes a little at himself--it’s clear that this isn’t coming easy for him, which makes it all the more meaningful. 

Link grins. “I like you too. And for the record, I’m the cheapest date ever. Dude, I took you to iHop for our second date.” 

“Hey, you’ll never hear me knocking iHop. Their burgers are great,” Rhett laughs, happy and breathy. Link’s never heard him cackle like that before. 

He’d very much like to hear it again. 

Link grins. “How ‘bout I’ll take you there a few times, and we’ll call it square?” 

Rhett leans down, and this time Link doesn’t have to wonder whether or not he’s imagining Rhett’s lips on his; his mouth is warm, and sweet from wine. 

“Deal,” Rhett says, letting go of one of Link’s hands. He hangs on to the other one though, lacing their fingers together. His palm is large and comforting against Link’s own. 

They start to walk back in the direction of Rhett’s car. The sweet spring breeze is sugary and light as it ruffles their hair. Link feels warm down to his bones. 

“So what do you think about a late night snack?” Link says casually. 

There’s a hungry gleam in Rhett’s eye, and a smirk on his lips when he says “Sure. My place or yours?”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://serpentkinglink.tumblr.com)
> 
> Endless thanks to my lovely beta and pal, [apparentlynotreallyfinnish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apparentlynotreallyfinnish). All remaining mistakes are my own.


End file.
